Homesick

Well, it happened, I got hit with a strong bout of homesickness. Everyone said it would happen. People back in the USA almost threatened it with stories of how I'd regret this choice. People that also made the move abroad promised it would happen with their own stories of struggle, but as we rounded a year in Spain and almost a year in Sitges, it hadn't happened yet. 

On Tuesday Denali and I managed to figure out taking two trains to get to Tarragona for the solar eclipse. Tarragona is a coastal city south of us with amazing Roman ruins and a strong Casteller history. It is one of the biggest tourist destinations on our coast so we were excited to finally be seeing it. We stayed at a simple place on the Rambla which gave us easy walking access to the medieval city center. After a stress induced nap (complex travel in another language is exhausting) we wandered up and down the cobblestone streets. The origami of the new facades built around ancient doorways was charming and beautiful. We quickly found a perfect spot at a cafe, under a huge tree, to people watch. The heat seemed to blaze at you from all directions even in the shade, it was hotter than in Sitges. Armed with our hand fans snapping quickly at our faces, we sat with a group of locals and dripped sweat in unison. The light slowly turned orange, but it would still be hours before the sun would set, we sipped our chilled glasses of wine, and took in the view. 

People watching is a favorite pastime of mine. You learn so much about a place and the feeling of it by watching who is there and how they behave. As we let the afternoon unfold in-front of us, it became very noticeable that there were a lot of very hot and unhappy American families out touring. Group after group stopped to argue in the charming plaza, shirts wet and heavy with sweat, children sticky with melted ice cream, teenagers sulking, everyone deeply exhausted. They clearly had hit ALL the sights and now couldn't even use the fan they'd just bought at one of the many shops selling a little piece of take-a-way-Spain to cool off. I get it, we have all been there where you felt like you needed to see all the stuff in order to feel you had seen the place, but man did it look miserable from where I was sitting. One thing I have learned living in Spain this year is that slowing down and enjoying is mandatory and not getting to "it", whatever "it" is, is not only OK, but necessary. Many of the families attempted a cold drink at the cafe, but they were loudly annoyed by the slow service (Spain waiters are on their own timetable and it must be respected), confused by the offerings on the menu not being listed as tapas, and flabbergasted that there were no tacos, which resulted in a quick rejection of the respite we were enjoying. The other category of person we saw in droves were cisgender straight white men from various countries. They seemed to have come to Tarragona for the eclipse party and completely different motives than simply viewing an astronomical moment. These guys prowled the streets in front of us and I made a mental note to be more aware when we walked to the hotel at night. These two types of people have been blissfully missing from Sitges. Our little gay corner of the world attracts people wanting to chill out. There is a heavy LGBTQ+ community, a focus on the arts, and blessed little else to do than stroll the beautiful streets hand in hand and fall in love again. I swear you can actively watch people fall in love with each other in Sitges. New couples, old married couples, gay, straight, any race or religion, something in the sea air weaves a spell. It is a magical bubble free from angry over tired tourists, scary straight men, and any form of hurry up vibe. There are plenty of straight men by-the-way, they just also seem to be the kind that are loving and kind and don't walk around with a threatening attitude. I think that is why Tarragona in August stood out so strongly to us. Obviously the city is so much more than this micro view of it I was having, but you see what I'm saying. What I did love were the locals who were absolutely amazing, friendly, even adoring people. The receptionist at the hotel desk took a personal interest in making sure we could easily experience whatever it was we had on our wish list with ease. Our cafe waitress patiently allowed us to stumble through ordering and asking questions in spanish, which takes a saint, and encouraged our efforts. A little later she gently informed me, when I asked for a fork, that "in Spain we do not eat mussels with a fork, we eat them with our hands" then kindly brought me a fork. This was a tip I had not been given yet and I love that kind of stuff! After that, when she passed by and saw the fork untouched, my hands fully immersed in white wine and lemon broth sucking away at the plump sea creatures, she beamed approvingly at me and rubbed my shoulder. As night tucked away the sun, we walked back to the hotel under the colorful lights and stumbled upon a group of Castellers! A rainbow of the classic button down tailored shirts that identify which colla you belong to wove together in a crowd. They come together to practice stunts, to support and help each other with the trickier feats they would perform seperately at the eclipse party in the port the next day. It was really a wonderful symbol of the city's core and that was even more beautiful than the Roman ruins... which are totally amazing and you have to go see. 

The following day we did just that, we went to see the famous Roman ruins... in the middle of the day, in August. Rookie move, seriously a bad idea, and I know better. Even in those conditions it was epic, truly impressive, and we managed to get back to the hotel before full sunstroke kicked in. Another nap on the rock hard beds and we were ready for the eclipse party! We headed to the port where promises of food trucks, bands playing, and some 18,000 anticipated excited eclipse watchers would be. What we found was something that resembled a badly organized (shout out to my New Mexican peeps here) Zazobra event. It didn't matter, we got our beers, skipped the mess at the food stands, and found a great spot to watch from with a direct view over the water to the setting sun. As the progression of the moon started across the sky, the small stage in-front of us filled with three men playing various bongo drums and one with a rain stick. I grew up in Taos, NM so I am very familiar with this being how some people would want to celebrate a cosmic event of this nature. What blew my mind was that they gave the woman that joined them a mic and the festival organizers allowed her to moan/ shriek as she did what I can only assume was a goddess moon dance. I am all for everyone doing what is right for them and celebrating this incredible happening in a meaningful way, but that is if it doesn't harm others or force their beliefs on others. Well I felt assaulted by this performance. I am pretty sure there are people that could have had the same concept and yet also sang or did vocal scales hitting real notes. Luckily that all stopped in time to watch the actual totality. The huge sea of people went silent, then as the moon hit the epicenter and full totality was in place, a collective gasp happened. It is hard to explain, but watching the halo of light spear out behind the moon as we were plummeted into absolute darkness and at the same time have 18,000 people all be struck by the surprising intensity and power of this moment then gasp in unison was incredible. Had someone given me a mic I might have started moan/ sheiking too, you never know. 

We returned to the hotel instead of staying at the party that seemed to be morphing into a rave and took the route that allowed us to see the gigantic Monument to Castellers statue. It was finally a perfect temperature out and the air seemed to be filled with happiness. All the prowling men stayed at the port and the Rambla was blissfully filled with happy Spanish children playing. We bought cotton candy from a street vendor and marvelled at what we'd just witnessed. It was pure joy marked by a little sadness that Jesse, the one that had been most excited about this, wasn't able to be with us. I went to bed that night a little melancholy. 

Waking in the morning I bounced out of bed with more excitement than a child on Christmas morning. I shook my daughter awake and squealed "let's go home!!!". I could hardly contain myself as we packed and headed to the train station. I hadn't realized it until we were actually headed back to Sitges, but I had just had my first bout of homesickness. I recognized that while Tarragona is beautiful and fun to visit, I desperately wanted to be back in my bubble, my perfect little piece of heaven. I missed home, Sitges.

So to answer the question heavy in the air, no I am still not homesick for the USA or even New Mexico. That answer seems to make some people sad. I think some people are sad because they genuinely miss us, but I think it also makes some people sad because they are jealous. A friend that I had this conversation with responded with "ahhh you bitch! I wanna move to Europe!" which felt like an honesty others have masked with comments like 'oh that's nice' when I report zero feelings of remorse or loss. Yes, this is incredibly hard, like really really hard, and no, Sitges and Spain are not perfect in all of the ways, but something has seeped in, deep under my skin, that makes me feel joy on a level I can not explain. In fact the longer I am here, the stranger it seems to think that I haven't always lived here.

I also know what it feels like to watch people you care about make big choices that force you to feel uncomfortable feelings, or to have introspective quandaries that are frustrating or depressing, and it isn't fun. On the other side of those moments, I have always been able to either confirm my choices, make changes, let go of unhealthy relationships or start new ventures that result in a better life for myself. They have served as a push that I didn't know I needed at the time. Hopefully those that read this and feel annoyance, will also allow for the moan/ shriek you hear me doing right now to dissipate and allow you to take a deep breath and experience your own totality. Maybe my move, my lack of homesickness, doesn't need to reflect anything back to you, maybe we just need to gasp at the beauty of it all... together.

Hablas Espanol Con Fluidez? (are you fluent in spanish?)

My Spanish class crew at our favorite meet up bar

Inevitably someone has to ruin all the fun chit chat of moving to Spain and ask 'Hablas espanol con fluidez ahora (do you speak Spanish fluently now)?' To which I always respond "Si, hablo espanol perfectamente (yes, I speak spanish perfectly)!" and then Google Translate and I laugh and laugh and laugh.

No, I don't speak Spanish fluently. 

I feel your judgement, I know you are thinking I should be immersing myself in the language, quietly asking why bother moving to another country if you aren't going to learn the language? What a gross waste of an opportunity! 

Well, as Carrie Fisher's character in the movie When Harry Met Sally said "You're right, you're right, I know you're right."

Can I just say, for the record, no one told me that Spain Spanish was really different than the South American Spanish I grew up learning. Phrases and words need to be unlearned, did you know that? I am repeatedly being scolded in class when my brain inserts some relic from many years past. This makes it incredibly difficult to attempt speaking out in the "wild", feeling like I am doing it wrong and...well, doing it wrong. Also, why bother when everyone speaks Catalan anyway?

OK so that is the cranky me talking. It is frustrating and exhausting, but I am trying. In July 2025 we landed in Spain, by September we had moved to Sitges, and in October we started Spanish classes twice a week. Denali doubled down by also taking two semesters of Spanish online through her University Film Certificate program and I attempted visa and healthcare paperwork in Spanish. This was an unorthodox method, but I do now know things like 'necesito una cita' or 'tengo una tarjeta sanitaria' and one all of you regular readers will appreciate, the word 'empadronamiento' also known as going to the PADRON. That word scares me so much that I can assure you we are still getting very important government mail at our old address because I have not worked up the courage to go back in, face La Senora, and change it. So what is the hold up with my language skills as we come up on a year of classes?

I think there are several things at play here... the first thing is that just being in a different country is emotionally exhausting. Everything is new and different and it takes a toll. Something as simple as coffee necessitates a deep dive. Turns out they roast coffee beans with sugar in Spain which actually makes the coffee taste more bitter. If you don't like your coffee to taste like vomiting bile, then you must get beans marked natural. The second thing is that we moved to Catalonia (an autonomous region in Spain) that speaks Catalan so just learning to hear the differences in the 2 languages was a workout. For months I thought I was seriously learning impaired because I couldn't understand anything an-y-thing locals were saying and I assumed they were speaking Spanish. Catalan is tricky and it is everywhere here, the grocery store I like the most has all of its signs in Catalan. The store's own brand of foods, in Catalan. The checker? You guessed it, speaking Catalan. Fun trivia 'tens carnet de soci' means 'do you have a member card' in Catalan. My personal favorite is websites, like your healthcare patient portal, kindly offers to translate the Catalan into Spanish for ease, no English option. Awesome, that will help lots! The third issue is that we are in a touristy seaside town so people working in restaurants speak some English and want to switch to that the second they catch wind of my jackassery. I have to work really hard to fight the instinct to sound intelligent and instead clunk my way through a sentence in Spanish.  

In truth I do see baby steps in the right direction. I was able to help a little old woman find something in a store the other day and that required a full conversation, and when I was watching a video without subtitles last night I managed to get most of the information I needed. Jesse says he can see improvement simply because of the kind of questions I ask him when I need his help with my Spanish homework, so maybe I am getting something here and there. I have had a couple people praise my accent which is cool since it has required a shift from the South American click I've known my entire life. It isn't easy, I didn't think it would be, but I am trying, even if it is only a little bit every day. 

But hey, at least I can order a glass of wine and that is all that is really important, isn't it?

Castellers... and Why Did Jesse Join a Gang?

Castells are what Castellers build. Castells are human towers that exhibit incredible teamwork, concentration, athleticism, and community. It is perfectly described as "a genuinely Catalan tradition which UNESCO declared Intangible Heritage of Humanity in 2010" on the Castell website (click here to read more), but it is impossible to describe what it feels like to see one in person. The crowd goes silent as the core group that form the base link arms. Quickly members of the Colla (gang) fall into place and like a mass of ants the climbers gingerly step onto shoulders from all sides of the circle. Layer upon choreographed layer they climb up, their arms clasped, their legs shaking in effort, and piercing stares fixed on one another. In the audience, we all hold our breath. Drums and flute like instruments called gralles start to play as the musicians see the base is secure and the top levels of the castell can be formed. Then a small extremely brave child, usually around 5 years old, shimmies up to the tippy top (sometimes 8 or more levels high), flings an arm into the air like a rodeo bronc rider and shimmies back down the other side. As the child descends, the layers of the castell descend as well. When deconstructed safely, the crowd goes wild! It is dangerous, acrobatic, and beautiful, and being a witness to it feels incredibly special.

So the million dollar question is how the hell did Jesse, a newly transplanted American in Spain, find himself a member of this unique Catalan community? As you can imagine, it is an interesting story. He had come across videos of this phenomenon, the castells, as he was researching the region we were moving to. He eagerly showed Denali and I videos of some of the biggest ever made, some of the harrowing falls, and various performances the Sitges group had done in town. He could not wait to see one performed in person, but after 6 months in Sitges he still had no idea how someone would be lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time to catch it. 

As you have read in previous posts, we live in the oldest part of old town. We happen to live next door to the historic Palau Rei Moro (palace of the moorish king) which we had not been able to look inside of because it was always locked or hosting a private event. One night, when we were coming home after an evening with friends on the beach, the big heavy wooden doors of the Palau stood wide open. We hesitantly entered the ancient space and much to our surprise we found the castellers practicing inside! Our excitement was obvious and caught the attention of the director who immediately welcomed us. Within minutes we were encircled by members who lovingly kissed our cheeks and explained what we were seeing as a castell formed in the courtyard. Before we knew it we were given t-shirts, agreeing to go on the bus with them to a performance the following day, and Jesse was being signed up as a member. 

Over the following months we became a part of this special family known as the Colla Jove de Castellers de Sitges. When Jesse had to return to New Mexico in the spring, Denali and I attended their events, were invited to dinners and lovingly hugged when they saw us on the street. We even introduced two local friends to the group which garnered us extra badass points with the colla. When Jesse returned he was met with such genuine joy and warmth that it was quite literally a tearfilled reunion.

The Casteller connection has enriched our lives in Sitges, but also other places. On my recent trip to Roussillon, France, (which is part of Catalonia and I will write about that soon), I impressed the wine community there with the surprising information that not only did I live in Catalonia, but my husband was also a Casteller, I went from just another journalist to a fast friend. I have to admit it was a pretty amazing feeling and it made me want to pimp my husband out for other groups to join.

The most amazing thing is that I didn't think we could love Sitges any more than we already did, but this family, this gang, has given us such a rich layer to our lives that we can now feel like we didn't just move here, but that we belong here and there are simply no words to describe what that is like.